(Butch): Christ almighty Butch, pull yourself together man.
After a couple of minutes giving himself a little pep talk he has a shower and a shave. Around half an hour later, Butch, feeling somewhat better and clad in jeans and a plain black t-shirt, makes his way down from his hotel room the lobby. Just as he is making his way towards the reception area to hand in his key, a flood of reporters spill into the lobby area, making a beeline straight for Butch. He rolls, kicking the desk slightly in annoyance at his hotel being so easy to find. He mutters angrily to himself.
(Butch): Bastards. Can they not give me a moment's peace?
Butch tries his best to ignore the throng of swarming journalists congregating around him, flashing their cameras in his face and screaming questions but having not even managed to reach the door of the hotel, he stops dead and shouts.
(Butch): For f*** sake! Look I'm very tired and I have a lot to deal with right now! But if it will get you off my goddamn back, I'll answer some questions for you. One question at a time.
As the rabble starts to die down, several of the reporters throw individual questions at Butch. The first to do so is a woman, mid-to-late twenties, her chestnut-tinted hair tied up in a bun and thick-framed glasses adorn her face. In either hand is a pen and notepad.
(Reporter 1#): Mr Parker, how does it feel knowing that this former mistress of yours is carrying your unborn daughter and do you intend to fight for custody for her when she is born?
(Butch): To be quite frank I have no idea how I feel about it, my head feels like an F5 tornado just ransacked it so when I know, you'll know.
A young man in his early twenties steps forward, the look of a college student about him.
(Reporter 2#): Butch, you had a hell of a match with Talon Wilkinson at Blood, Sweat and Tears, how does it feel to finally get a win against and in by submission aswell?
(Butch): Beating Talon was the last thing on my mind. If you asked me that a year ago, I'd run out of adjectives to describe my elation but beating Talon Wilkinson these days is not something to jump up and down about. He's where he belongs now – at the bottom of the ladder; we'll see if he has the balls and the guts to climb back up to the top.
(Reporter 3#): Butch, what are your thoughts on your upcoming match with Ronnie McNeil, the man who it was revealed at Blood, Sweat and Tears was the perpetrator of the mysterious attacks on Senester and yourself over the past several months.
(Butch):You think I give a shit about facing Ronnie McNeil? A man who thinks a ten-second lesson in philosophy and condescension is enough to see him through his matches along with empty promises of grandeur that he's going to set the world afire with his passionate rage and "unmatched" skill.
Butch scoffs, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand.
(Butch): I have more important matters to deal with than Ronnie McNeil. I've beaten him countless times before; I don't have anything to prove against him. The only thing I have in common with Ronnie McNeil is my desire to pound Senester's skull into smithereens, but apart from that, I have no interest in this match whatsoever. I'll leave it the former All-Star Champion to come out and spew some indecipherable shite about how I will be some sort of stepping stone on his road to vengeance against Senester and he can go on like that until to the cows home, it makes not one bit of difference to me. You want to know how I feel about this match? I don't give a f***.
Suddenly another voice, the owner unknown, shouts out from within the herd.
(Reporter 4#): Mr Parker, I'm sorry but how can you condone your actions over the past year, all the death you've dealt as Senester's right hand man just to save your sister. We all seen her reaction as to what happened and it seems the fans still don't appreciate you despite your so-called heroic actions to save your family. How do you feel about it?
The rabble falls silent and Butch cranes his neck slowly to side, training his eyes on the area where the voice emanated from. He makes a parting motion with his hands and several reporters step aside to reveal a bold-looking man, probably in his mid-thirties, looking quite sure of himself. Butch walks right up to him, staring down at the man a good seven inches shorter than him.
(Butch): Tell me something. What would you do to save a member of your family? What lengths would you go to? Hmmm?
The man stutters and stammers for a moment before Butch snatches him up by his collar, and he hauls him up so that the two of them are nose to nose.
(Butch): Don't you ever question my integrity or my actions, you hear me? You think what I've done is bad? You think I should be condemned? Boy, you literally have no idea what I've put myself through for my family. You got me?
The man, scared stiff, can't seem to utter a word response, merely mumbling and nodding. Butch releases his grip on the man's shirt before staring around at the media surrounding and staring at him in silence.
(Butch): Now, if you'll excuse me…
Butch holds his hands up and pushes politely but firmly through the crowd of reporters that are still firing question after question at him as he leaves the hotel, the scene fading to black.
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